"I don't know," said Andrew. "Dick's capable of anything when he's worked up. The curious thing is that his head is steadier than usual then."
They waited until the sound grew fainter and then died away.
"I am going down the glen," Andrew said.
They had not gone far when they heard a motor panting up hill to meet them, and a minute later Dick's car ran past and he waved his hand.
"Hotel gate!" he shouted. "Don't want to stop!"
When they reached the gate, Dick was waiting. Andrew turned the light on him, and started at the sight which met him. Dick's face was white and strained and smeared with blood, and he was evidently laboring under an emotion not wholly due to anger and excitement.
Even in the sudden flash past them of the automobile Andrew thought he had recognized the car as one belonging to Appleyard—a low, gray car which Staffer always used. He had believed that the lurch which nearly cost them their lives was due to reckless driving; but there was a tenseness in Dick's expression which he could not quite understand.
"Did you overtake the car?" he asked.
"No," said Dick, with a forced grin; "I took the bank and I'm afraid the machine is something the worse for it. I was gaining and close to the car when we got down to the bottom of the glen. You know it's very narrow there."
Whitney nodded. There was a sharp bend where road and stream ran out side by side through the sharply contracted gap in the hills. The slope on both sides was very steep and there was only a strip of grass between the road and the water, seven or eight feet below.